Save Me, Satan
by yiyjfgyty
Summary: An Assassin dosen't always have to kill; sometimes, he is there to protect. /Oneshot/


((A.N// This had been in my head for a while, and was originally going to start out as a poem. However, since I downright suck at poems and- for whatever reason, it's a pretty basic story- really like the idea; I chose to write it in such a format. But, maybe if you guys are _rreeallyyy _lucky, I'll do it.

Vocab. You'll need to know: (This could be wrong)

PavadaI believe this is the name of the dress that the women from Assassin's Creed are normally seen wearing

Sari: A strip of unstitched cloth that is draped over the body in various styles.

Choli: The blouse that woman normally wear over their Pavada. It's the blouse with the hood.))

Save Me, Satan

A fanfiction by: PublicPervert

To a newcomer of the beautiful city of Jerusalem, one might find the streets belonging to that faithful morning over-crowded, perhaps even truly awed at the sight of so many people crammed into one tiny city district. Many different voice rang in the streets of the Middle District, announcing sales from makeshift vendor tables and the delighted cheers of ignorant children, having fun with their playmates as they raced down the streets to watch the trade boats go off, much to the anger of jug-carriers and guards: Did these young infidels really not know of the endless struggles The Holy Land was going through? What did their parents tell them, poppycock?

However, the hustle and bustle of the Jerusalem residents were not shocking to all, oh no. For those who had grown up in the walls of the holy city, this was a normal crowd- Actually, it was less than normal. The cold winds signifying the middle of the winter season ripped through the open market streets, large piles of white, fluffy snow at the feet of those that walked their path for the day, some slipping in the numerous yet almost invisible patches of ice that were randomly scattered about the city, caused by a terrible chill the evening before. As a matter of fact, the cursing brought out by several jar carriers and grumpy old men alike were enough to cause glares as icy as the day from angry mothers, beckoning their children closer to their bodies as they covered the tiny ears of their offspring, shielding them for the harsh words and unnecessary swearing to God that they need not know yet.

The ice was a terrible thing, yes, but sometimes it could not be avoided. This realization struck a young woman sitting on a bench in the dead center of the Middle District of Jerusalem, sighing into her hands, one leg crossed over another beneath her jade green pavada with matching sari, a pair of boots on her feet to keep them warm- A gift from her husband. The hood of her Choli kept her ears just as warm that frigid day as she tucked her arms up against her, shivering slightly. Every day around this time she would see her cousin- A vendor- and talk to him, no matter what the weather was like. She was returning home from her trip and had decided to sit for a spell. And, with her bum colder than she could ever remember it being in her life she, stood and started on her way home.

She hadn't been on her way home for more than five minutes, however, when the ground suddenly slipped out from under her, causing the young woman to give a shriek of terror as she landed, a sickening _crunch!_ coming out from underneath her, making her head spin in pain and nausea. Trying to stand, the woman's leg shot a tremendous thunder clap of pain through her body, bringing her down on the ground once more. She let out a little whimper as she looked around her- She had decided to take the back alleys home due to the crowd, and saw nobody. She felt cold tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as she looked to the ground, praying for an answer. Suddenly, a rough hand clasped on her shoulder and she gasped in surprise, tuning to look at the owner of the hand so fast that her hood fell off, revealing a bun of beautiful, dark brown hair. Had God truly answered her prayers?

And that's when she felt her heart sink into her chest.

The tall, bulky man chuckled, two males of the same wardrobe standing directly behind him. Templars. The head of the group laughed again, his dark presence filling the slanted walls of the alleys. "Well, what do we have here?" he asked to nobody in particular, even through the two behind him smiled wickedly. "A pretty little woman who fell on her bum. What an unbelievably sad sight." The other two smirked, nodding their heads as if in agreement. "Well, you two know what we do for poor women like this, don't you?"

Almost immediately after the built man spoke he bent over, cupping the frail woman's chin in his hands, causing her to wince again as he brought his face closer to hers, his breath _reeking_ with alcohol. "How about a kiss, pretty lady?" he asked, the young woman's eyes widening. As the man began to stroke the side of her cheek, a dark shadow was caught out of the side of her eyes and, without thinking, she screamed out in terror, causing the Templar to let go of her, spinning around to see what caused her terror. He spun around so fast that the sheath of his sword crashed into the side of her head, knocking the poor woman to the ground once more. "Who in the hell…?!"

The Templar didn't get the chance to finish his sentence, however, as a blade drove through his stomach, causing him to fall to the ground as he slid off, dead. The other two, suddenly stuck behind the deadly man without their leader, gave a cry of shock as they drew their own blades. One of the men pounced at the mystery man, his blade drawn, but the killer was faster, taking the blunt edge of his sword and knocking his attacker flat on his back, giving him the perfect opportunity to stick the sword into the Templar's face, blood streaming out of him like a fountain as the deadly weapon was pulled from his skull, rich red blood and other forms of brain matter spewing onto the ground, dying it that sickening shade of death. He turned to the third, who had started to run away- Probably going off in inform the Head Templar of the area what had happened. With the speed of a cheetah, the death angel swung his sword across the Templar's neck, decapitating him fiercely. Pulling the bloody blade back into his sheath, he turned to look at the petrified woman, crumpled on the ground. It was only then he spoke, the three dead and gone.

"Are you…injured?" She wasn't able to make out his face, but the garb the man wore was to no knowledge of hers. He wore an all white robe, its hood up as to protect his identity. What appeared to be gray under armor protected his arms, like the brown leather gloves he wore on his hands- The woman could see that one of his fingers was missing- The right ring finger, if she wasn't mistaken. The last thing she caught sight of was his red sash, tied around the waist, before she found herself in the mysterious man's arms, being cradled like a baby. She opened her mouth, almost as a threat to scream, before she found the man's odd, four-fingered hand placed over her mouth, as she was being balanced only in one arm. "Hush." He demanded, the woman nodding silently. "I have no aim to hurt you." Giving her that much, the man ran towards a nearby wall, climbing up and over the windows and notches in the wall- Still with only his one hand- before reaching the rooftops, giving the woman clad in green much awe at her surroundings. She had never been this high up before…

The man looked around him, a thin expression on his lips- She could see them more clearly now, her bleeding head resting on his chest- before running off to the west, the chilly wind whipping past her, stinging her already pained face. The man had taken his hand off of her mouth beforehand, but still found that she was unable to speak as she inhaled a mouthful of winter's cool breath, almost gagging her.

The colors of Jerusalem whizzed past her hazel eyes at high speeds until, at last, they stopped, the man standing at the rooftop entrance of a hospital. Similar to a small child, the man placed her down on the ground much more gently then he expected no smile present on his face. He stepped over her, knocking on the door once, then again. Finally, without a word, he turned to leave.

"Wait!"

The man, who seemed to glow as the white sun shone behind his figure, turned his hooded head to look at her, not speaking. She found herself looking directly into his eyes- well, where his eyes should have been- as she spoke. "Please," she said frailly, then raising her voice some, force in her vocal chords, "Please! Tell me your name!"

An eternity seemed to leak by before the figure slowly began to turn his head away from her. "You needn't know that." He responded coldly, lifting his foot up. As he went to step away from the door, he found his right ankle suddenly pulled back down to the rooftop and he spun his head back at her in shock. Well, well. The woman was, especially in her state, much stronger then he expected.

This strength was reflected in her pleading hazel eyes, despite the thin tears that rolled down her cheeks. She didn't have to say much of anything else besides a final "Please…" before his lips turned upright into an extremely rare, yet slight smile, which vanished as he did something even rarer: Removed his hood.

"My name…is Altaïr."

And, with that, he ripped his foot free of her grasp and ran off into the distance, giving a flying leap as he descended onto the next cluster of buildings, pulling up his hood mid-air, followed by a cat-like landing.

The next time she blinked, her savior- Satan's Angel, Altaïr - was gone.

xxx

"Well, if it isn't Altaïr, Hero of the People?"

The assassin turned his head away from the bearded man, a slick smile on his face as he continued, lifting his left arm in the air for dramatic effect as he spoke, the right arm gone. "Why, O Great Assassin Altaïr, why don't you retell the tale for me _again_? You know, the one about you playing the _valiant hero who killed three Templars in front of a woman whom he then brought to a __hospital?!_ Please, why don't you tell me again what happened, just so I can hear it once more before we're _discovered_?!" Before the quiet man could even answer, he brought his left hand across Altaïr's face, striking him. Like always, the assassin simply rubbed it away, feeling nothing- No pain, no remorse for what he did. As a matter of fact, the only thing he _did_ feel like doing was slicing that stupid expression off of Malik's face one and for all. Instead of drawing his blade, however, he replied.

"Gladly. But first, why don't tell me the first rule of the Creed? After all, you seem so keen of using it against me today." The man in the green coat scowled, looking away as he paced behind his desk. "Fine." He spat at the other assassin, "In plain terms, an Assassin must never harm an innocent."

"Exactly." The assassin known as Altaïr glared directly across from the head of Jerusalem's Assassination Bureau, both about the same height while standing up straight. "That woman was an innocent. She could have been hurt- No, killed- by those Templars. I was obligated to save her, and then you expect me to kill her?"

Silence passed between the two, Malik having nothing to retort with. Finally, he scowled, turning away from Altaïr completely. "You're one to talk, Mr. Big Shot Assassin. Just…just get back to work! You have a _job_ to do, after all."

This time, it was Altaïr's turn to smirk. "Why, whatever you say, Malik. Whatever you say."


End file.
